Gbemi*, 31, thought she could finally breathe a sigh of relief after a new job allowed her to fill in the financial gap left by her husband’s inconsistent income. However, this relief was unexpectedly cut short after she discovered she was pregnant.
In this story, she shares how pregnancy discrimination at work got her laid off, and how motherhood has led to uncertainty about her career options and financial future.
This is Gbemi’s story, as told to Boluwatife
I remember staring at the ₦200 pregnancy test strip as the second line appeared, and my world shifted on its axis.
I was unbelievably happy, but also terrified. There I was, holding the answer to five years of prayers and a silent struggle with unexplained infertility. I took the test right at the mall where I bought it — after so many negatives, I couldn’t risk letting hope balloon inside me by waiting until I got home. But for the first time ever, the strip told a different story.
I sank to the toilet floor, not caring that I was in a public bathroom; my legs couldn’t hold me up a second longer. The miracle I’d cried out for, begged for, had arrived at the worst possible time. Yes, my dreams were finally coming true, but it also meant my job was on the line.
Eight months earlier, I’d started work at a plastic factory, my first real on-site 9-to-5. Until then, I’d mostly done remote stints in operations, social media management and virtual assistance. But my husband’s income as a freelance consultant had become too inconsistent to plan our lives around.
He could make ₦1m one day, then go the next six months without a credit alert lighting up his phone. We needed steady income, so when the factory job came up in June 2023, I jumped at it. The ₦180k salary wasn’t life-changing, but it was consistent. We needed that.
On my first day of onboarding, after I introduced myself to my manager, he looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Do these people still hire women in this place?” I froze, watching him scratch his head and assess me from head to toe, as if he expected my body, not my mouth, to answer his question.
It took a few weeks, but I eventually discovered why he’d asked that. Management rarely allowed women to work on the manufacturing side because of the chemicals and the belief that we weren’t as “strong” as the men. Women, they claimed, also took more sick leaves, so they just hired fewer of us.
Although I didn’t work in manufacturing — I was in admin operations and accounts — the discrimination still found its way to the women in the office. My manager, especially, was notorious for grumbling about female staff who had to rush off a few minutes before closing to pick up their children from school. If it were up to him, he’d only work with men.
I was one of just two women under his authority, and I could feel him waiting for me to make a mistake so he’d have a reason to let me go.
So, even while I rejoiced at my miracle pregnancy in February 2024, I knew there was a big problem: my manager would never consider maternity leave. The company didn’t even have a policy for it.
My only option was to work till the exact day of my delivery and resume one day after giving birth. Anything else, and I knew I wouldn’t have a job to return to.
My husband and I had only just started to enjoy some stability with my income. By then, he wasn’t even getting consultant gigs anymore and was fully job-hunting. How would we survive without my job?
I tried to console myself with the fact that I had some time. I figured it would take at least six months for my belly to show, and by then, my husband would’ve hopefully found something.
It didn’t work like that. Firstly, I had all-day sickness — my symptoms refused to limit themselves to mornings — through the entire first trimester, and it showed in my work. I was constantly fighting headaches and nausea, surviving on nothing but crackers and water. I couldn’t focus and kept missing deadlines.
Secondly, my belly started to show at just three months. I didn’t think anyone would notice, but my hateful manager immediately did.
One afternoon, he called me into his office. “You’re pregnant. You didn’t plan to tell us?” The way he said it left no room for denial. I just nodded and smiled, bracing myself for him to sack me on the spot. He gave me a smile I can only describe as triumphant, and asked me to return to my desk.
He didn’t sack me that day or the day after — not even the week after. Two weeks later, when I’d forgotten our conversation, I resumed work to find an email from HR. The email said the company was “restructuring,” and my role was no longer “feasible” for their new direction. It was a “layoff,” but I was the only employee affected.
I walked out of the office that morning, my heart heavy with grief and questions. I was the breadwinner in my family, and suddenly I had no job, no income. My husband had been trying his best, but he hadn’t found anything, and we had a baby on the way.
The months that followed were a blur of uncertainty. I sent out application after application, but no one wanted to hire a pregnant woman. When we could no longer rely on urgent ₦10k handouts from friends and family, my husband took a security job for ₦80k/month. It was a huge downgrade, but we had no choice.
The financial strain and uncertainty intensified after the arrival of our daughter, but we were blessed with a lifeline: our church community. They rallied around us, showering us with diapers and baby clothes, as well as the occasional cash gift. For five months, we didn’t have to worry about buying diapers.
And then there was breastfeeding. Doctors sing the virtues of breastfeeding exclusively for six months, citing the numerous health benefits to the baby. For me, it wasn’t a choice; it was a necessity. We couldn’t buy baby food, so breastfeeding was the only option.
It’s been almost a year since our baby came, and our financial situation hasn’t improved much. My husband no longer does the security job — he was sacked for sleeping on duty — and freelancing is still as inconsistent as ever, even though the income trickles in more often now.
I haven’t returned to work because I haven’t found any, but honestly, I’m not looking as hard as I should be. I struggle with the idea of being away from my child. I want to earn an income and contribute to my home again, but where do I keep her?
Sometimes, in the quiet moments when I’m breastfeeding at night, I wonder if I didn’t have this child at the wrong time. I immediately banish the thought as soon as it comes, but it always finds a way to creep back in.
I looked forward to motherhood for so long, but I didn’t realise how much it would change me. It feels like I’ve lost what it takes to provide for myself and my family. The internet describes a phenomenon called “mummy brain,” where new mums struggle with focus. I think I have that. There’s this fog in my brain preventing me from taking decisive steps to better my life and career.
I’m scared and uncertain about the future. Will I ever find a job? What kind of job can I even get? Will I ever be financially free? Will my family ever leave the struggle phase?
I have to believe I’ll get through this, somehow. I’ll find a way to make it work. I’ll find a way to balance motherhood and a career, so I can make my own money and be the mother and wife I want to be.
It won’t be easy, and I don’t know where to start, but I have to rebuild. My story can’t end here.
*Name has been changed to protect the subject’s identity.
NEXT READ: I Took Loans to Sponsor My Sister’s Education. Now I’m Fighting Addiction and Resentment
